


Going Through the Motions

by Arkeiryn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkeiryn/pseuds/Arkeiryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew that Harry Potter would come to him, eventually. It was the ex-Gryffindor’s fault that he wasn’t in Azkaban now; that he had even managed to escape the house arrest his mother was subjugated to, and had only had to give the Ministry a hefty fine in recompense for all the things he had done under the Dark Lord’s orders. However, he didn't expect Potter to send Granger, and he didn't expect to be invited to her wedding -- as Harry Potter's boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Could going through the motions  
Lead to real emotion?  
 _\- “Carry You” by Jimmy Eat World_

~~~

He knew that Harry Potter would come to him, eventually. It was the ex-Gryffindor’s fault that he wasn’t in Azkaban now; that he had even managed to escape the house arrest his mother was subjugated to, and had only had to give the Ministry a hefty fine in recompense for all the things he had done under the Dark Lord’s orders.

Not that he was really a Lord, or even that dark. By the end, he had just been a madman. Maybe some of his ideals had been good – better than Dumbledore’s stupid theory that wizards and Muggles could live side by side, anyway: you only had to look at the Middle Ages, at all the witch hunts, to realise that _that_ was never going to work – but he had gradually descended into idiocy. _And he was downright terrifying._

So, he knew that Harry Potter would come to ask for his help, in payment for what he had done, but he had never thought that he wouldn’t come in person. Even _Potter_ was polite enough to visit Draco Malfoy, or so he thought. But no, he sent one of his loyal dogs instead.

“Granger.” His voice was impeccably polite, and showed not one ounce of the surprise that had flooded his system upon first sight of her. _At least it’s not Weasel._

“Malfoy.” She was just as polite, and probably just as surprised. Well, Draco didn’t _usually_ make a habit of answering the door in a tight pair of jeans and a black t-shirt bearing the slogan: _We’re here, we’re queer, we do it up the rear_. It wasn’t _his_ fault that she’d arrived about half an hour before he, Blaise and Theo were due to meet up and visit Greg, to drag him out of the apathy that had fallen on him since his latest breakup. It was worse than what Draco called the usual post-relationship syndrome because it was around times like these that Greg remembered his first boyfriend, and how Fiendfyre had killed him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’d like to talk to you, please.” She stepped in silently as he stood aside to let her in. As he closed the door, Draco saw her eyes dart around, studying carefully. _Well, so would you if the last time you’d visited, it had been under less than ideal circumstances._

“Granger?” he prompted after a few seconds. She seemed to shake herself back to the present and turned to face him, giving him a small, slightly forced, smile.

“Harry needs your help.”

“Ah.” Well, what else could he say? ‘What took Potter so long; I’ve been waiting for him for nearly three years?’ After a mildly uncomfortable silence – strangely, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Draco would’ve anticipated, especially considering their history – he thought of something else to say. “Do you want a seat? Only I’m heading out soon…”

“No, this shouldn’t take long.” There was another silence, not as long as the previous one, where Granger watched her hands, her fingers clenching and unclenching around themselves, before she looked up and met Draco’s eyes straight on. “Harry’s gay.”

This didn’t actually surprise Draco. After the fiasco with Cho Chang – he knew everything because Cho had, strangely, confided in Millicent Bulstrode, who had told him all – he was under the distinct impression that no straight guy could ever screw up a relationship with a girl like that. A _gay_ guy, on the other hand…

(Of course, there was the whole Ginny Weasley deal, but Draco had a theory that that relationship was actually forged by a subliminal desire of Potter’s for the Weasel. Due to… other things… that were happening that year, the rumour he’d thought about setting around the school never actually got started. He still maintained that it was a dreadful shame.)

“What does Harry want, then? Someone to take him shopping, to teach him about style? Someone to show him the ropes at all the gay bars? Someone to tell him all about the birds and the bees?”

“A boyfriend.”

Draco actually allowed his surprise to show on his face, for a brief second. “And he wants _me_ for that? A Death Eater, someone who is Marked, someone who wanted him dead for quite a long time?”

Granger rolled her eyes. “Not a _real_ boyfriend, obviously. He never got back together with Ginny, after their temporary split at the end of sixth year. She doesn’t believe that he’s gay.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re the only gay guy we know,” Granger admitted. “Apart from Percy, of course, and Percy’s not really Harry’s type.”

“How the hell does Potter even know I’m gay? He’s the Master of Obliviousness.”

Granger shrugged. “Just, please, come to the wedding as Harry’s date.”

 _Wedding?_ He remembered then, that Granger and the Weasel were getting married. Oh, the shame! A great brain like hers, being tied to a family like theirs! She was going to turn into a Molly Weasley, having about five billion children and losing all her looks – even _he_ could see that she had turned into an attractive young woman – and the Weasel was going to feel intimidated by her because of her intelligence and force her to be a stay at home mother, and she was going to become all depressed and commit suicide and the world would lose the proof that Muggleborns weren’t worse than purebloods!

It was times like these when he wondered how it had taken him until sixth year to realise that he was gay. In fact, _he_ had never even realised. Pansy had said it to him, jokingly, after a similar melodramatic outburst – about his _hair_ , of all things, and that should’ve been another _huge_ giveaway – and his mind had latched onto the idea and had refused to let go. Plus, he had to admit that his brief fumblings with Theo before he decided that he preferred people who were both shorter and more sturdily built than him were much more enjoyable than anything that he had done with Pansy.

“Sure,” he found himself saying. He immediately cursed silently. This was _Potter_ they were talking about, his best enemy since first year, and even though he was mildly attractive – _hot, hot, hot!_ – anything between them was going to end in arguments and tears. (Or angry sex, but Draco wasn’t particularly hopeful. That had never happened at school, after all.)

“Thanks.” Granger gave him the first sincere smile he’d ever received from her then, and he nodded in return. “Here’s an invitation, and Harry’s address, I’d arrive about half an hour beforehand. It would probably be best to Apparate straight in; the wards will let you through.”

“Thank you.” Draco glanced over the pieces of paper briefly, before looking back up at Granger. “Do you have to…?”

She nodded. “Ron doesn’t know I’m here.” She turned to the door and Draco hurried to open it for her, but before she stepped completely out of the Manor, she looked him in the eye again. “Thanks, again. Harry will really appreciate this.”

Draco just nodded as she left and closed the door behind her. _It’s not like I have anything better to do. Free food and spending the day with a vaguely good-looking –_ absolutely gorgeous _– man; what more could I need? It definitely beats running the estate, or going through accounts._ Sighing, he glanced at his watch. _Fifteen minutes._ He had just enough time for a glass of wine before he left.

~~~

The music was loud, the drinks were alcoholic and Draco was seriously thankful for the existence of sobering charms, pain-relief charms and magic in general. Muggle bars weren’t really his scene, but Greg would hit on everyone in sight if they went to a wizarding venue just after the ending of his relationship, and not everyone was ready to be hit on by Greg. True, he was more attractive now than he had been in school. He’d grown another five inches after graduation, the depression after Vince’s death had caused him to stop eating particularly well for six months, and not all the weight he had lost had been regained. Nevertheless, he wasn’t particularly subtle, and was liable to scare if the rest of the Slytherin boys didn’t keep him in check. At least in a Muggle place, he wouldn’t flirt with everyone. He wasn’t stupid enough to know what could happen if he got in a relationship, however short, with someone non-magical, and they found out about their difference.

Draco sighed and leaned back against Blaise’s shoulder. Strangely, Blaise was the only one out of the four of them who was straight, but he’d been dragged to so many gay bars that he didn’t care about them any more. At the moment, he was eyeing up a pair of girls in the corner, musing out loud if one of them was bisexual, or if they wanted to experiment with a member of the opposite gender.

“Shut up, Blaise,” Theo said good-naturedly. Technically, he wasn’t gay either, but he’d been quite happy to let Blaise have all the Slytherin girls and concentrate on occasionally flirting with girls and mainly flirting with boys in the years above. As far as Draco knew, the only girls he’d ever been with were a German witch he’d met on holiday and, weirdly, Millicent Bulstrode. “I want to hear all about Draco’s interesting visitor.”

Draco swore under his breath. It had been a mistake having that glass of wine. Usually punctual, he’d arrived five minutes late and, upon questioning, had admitted that he’d been held up by company. “It was no one important.”

“No one important my left buttock.” Blaise dragged his eyes away from the girls and ruffled Draco’s hair. “Come on, it isn’t ‘no one’ that makes you late.”

There was nothing for it. Now Blaise had started the questioning, he’d never be able to stop him until he went home – and maybe not even then. “It was Granger.”

“ _Granger?!_ ”

Draco glared at Theo and poked Blaise in the arm. “Yes, Granger. Why?”

“Well, she’s… _Granger_.”

“She punched you in third year, you realise.”

“Thank you for that reminder, Theo.” Draco rolled his eyes. “She didn’t come for round two, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“What _did_ she want, though?”

“To talk.”

“Stop being defensive, Draco.” Blaise poked him in the side. “Tell us what she wanted!”

“Fine.” Draco slumped slightly, casting his eyes on his drink and admiring its lurid blue colour for a moment. “She wanted to know whether I could come to her wedding.”

“ _What?_ ”

He coughed. “As Potter’s date.”

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

He shrugged. “According to Granger, he’s gay and Weasley the Youngest won’t take no for an answer, so I’ve been asked to act like his boyfriend. Anyway, Potter doesn’t look too bad,” – _oh so stunning_ – “and it’s one of the social events of the year. As a Malfoy, I should go.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you’re forgetting that this is the _Golden Trio_ we’re talking about.”

“Stop being so logical about this.” Draco could hear the grin in Blaise’s tone. “If Draco wants to go and make puppy eyes at Potter, then let him.”

He froze. “Puppy eyes?”

“If you’re going as Potter’s date, as his _boyfriend_ , you’re going to have to act all lovey-dovey. He’s a Gryffindor, it’s what he’ll expect.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco let his head fall into his hands. “Why didn’t I think of that before I said yes?”

“You could always pull out.” But Draco shook his head.

“No, I can’t. After what Potter did for me at the trial, it’s the least I can do.”

“If you like,” Theo said with a slight frown, “we’ll gatecrash the party and keep you company.”

“Yeah, because that will go down well.” Draco shook his head. It was nice of Theo to offer, and they had become good friends since seventh year, when all the Slytherins had banded together even more than before in the face of all the Slytherin-hate, but it really wasn’t necessary. Plus, Granger _would_ probably start round two if more Slytherins than she had bargained for dropped in. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you’d better tell us _everything_ afterwards.”

“I will.” He frowned, looking out at the dance floor. “Since when has Greg been interested in anything that even _thinks_ about wearing a skirt?”

“Since never?”

“Maybe we should untangle him from the drag queens then.”

~~~

Three days later, and Draco was _still_ thinking about how to teach Greg to kiss without having to kiss him again. It was no wonder that all his relationships failed. And honestly, could the man not hold his drink? The only way they’d been able to drag him away from the drag queens was for Draco to lock lips with him and for the three of them to force him to walk while his mind wasn’t centred on his motor functions, to the catcalls of the people nearby.

Okay, so maybe he was being a bit harsh about the not keeping of relationships. Greg’s problem was that he was looking for another Vince, and Vince was very… unique.

So it took Draco a while to realised that when he Apparated into Potter’s living room, he wasn’t greeted by a kiss on the cheek, a hug, or even a hello. In fact, he wasn’t greeted at all.

Potter was definitely standing in front of him, his eyes wide with surprise. He’d done something about his glasses, probably got Muggle contacts or was using the temporary sight charm or something, and his eyes were… _green._ His hair, as usual, was that messy – _just fucked_ – look it always was, and his body looked even more Quidditch-toned than usual, leading Draco to wonder whether he went to the gym. All in all, he looked quite – _delicious_ – good.

Then he frowned. Potter may look good, but what he was wearing was not. “You seriously think you’re going out in public with me in _that_?”

“Erm…” For a moment, Potter looked flustered, and then he pulled himself together. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“Oh, so that’s all the thanks I get. I come here, looking _fabulous_ as always, and the man can’t even remember _why_ I’m here.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m your date, for the wedding. I’m your,” and here he grinned, “secret boyfriend, to scare Weasley the Youngest away.”

“Malfoy, I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“Oh for the love of-!” Draco almost ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Granger, at the Manor, asking if I could pretend to be your boyfriend, Ginny Weasley following you around like a love-sick puppy – ring any bells?”

Harry just stared at him. “No. Sorry. Well, the Ginny part is… No.” He frowned. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Draco almost allowed his surprise to show. Potter sounded… scary, scarier than he had in school. Seventh year, and maybe his life outside Hogwarts, had certainly done _something_ to him.

“Granger came to the Manor, all polite, asking if I could pretend to be your boyfriend so you could get it into that thick skull of Weasley the Youngest’s that you were _gay_. She told me you needed a date for her wedding.”

“Don’t call her that,” Potter said absently. “Oh, I’m going to _kill_ Hermione.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I was planning to go to the wedding _alone._ ”

“You mean…?” Draco suddenly felt embarrassed. Potter didn’t _want_ him here. He was being spurned by Potter _again_. “I’ve come all this way, wore my best robes, for nothing? I’ll just go then, shall I?”

“No,” Potter snarled, reaching out his hand just as Draco started to turn, to Apparate. Draco froze mid turn. “No,” Potter said again, more calmly. “I think… Hermione is quite often right, you know?”

“I had noticed,” Draco said when Potter didn’t look like he was going to talk. To his surprise, Potter actually gave him a small smile before carrying on.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. I mean, I spoke up for you at the trial, but you… If I’m not mistaken, you don’t have a job, and there’s still all that anti-Slytherin stigma going around.” Draco was even more surprised. He hadn’t realised Potter had noticed, Golden Gryffindor that he was. “I don’t want that. So, this might be good for that…”

Draco suddenly understood, and his voice was like ice when he spoke. “So you just want me with you because you have a saving-people thing and you don’t think us Slytherins have been saved enough from the big bad world enough?” He should’ve known that Potter would turn this to his own advantage, to make it so that Draco still owed him at the end.

Potter actually smiled at that. “Sorry, Hermione said the same thing to me once, about the saving-people thing.” He sobered. “And that’s not the only reason, no. I admit, that has something to do with it. But I wouldn’t do the same with, say, Millicent Bulstrode or Blaise Zabini.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Blaise. Apart from the fact that he isn’t really your type, of course.”

“Not my type?”

“Straight.”

“Ah.” Potter shifted his gaze to his feet. “So, are you…?”

Draco waited until Potter looked up at him with worry in his eyes. “Fine, I’ll come with you.” Potter looked relieved. “But _not_ with you wearing _that_.”

Ah, fear, the look he wanted. He relished it as he dragged Potter out of the room and up the stairs.

~~~

In the end, they’d had to go to the Manor to grab something of Draco’s for Potter to wear. He would never be able to wear that pair of grey trousers again, or that particular blue robe. The trousers had to be shortened and the robe had to be made slightly bigger to fit Potter’s muscles, which were more of the bulging type than Draco’s lean, sinewy ones, and as a result they were late.

“Fashionably late,” Draco hissed at Potter as every eye turned to them. Many mouths dropped open in surprise, and Weasley the Youngest even seemed to have tears in her eyes, for a brief second. _Just because I got the good-looking boy,_ Draco thought smugly to himself, and had to mentally hit himself over the head. _You’ve only got him for tonight, and apart from being quite striking –_ drop dead gorgeous – _there’s nothing else for him to appeal to you. You have nothing in common._

Weasley, standing at the front with his best man, his brother George, glared at them, a sure sign that he was in on the plot. If he wasn’t, he’d be rushing over and alternately throttling Draco and hitting Potter over the head. George Weasley just looked surprised – and suspiciously like he was searching for his wand in his robes.

“We’re almost as late as the bride,” Potter hissed back as he dragged Draco up to the front of the rows of guests, where there were two empty seats. Luckily, he sat between Draco and Weasley the Youngest. Draco thought that the look in her eyes was distinctly murderous.

Indeed, they _were_ only about a minute ahead of the bride. The bridal march started and all eyes turned to the back of the field – why the Weasel and Granger were having their wedding in the middle of a field was beyond him, but at least it was a nice day for it – where Granger stood, looking quite striking in white. Even Draco could appreciate that she looked good, and that the Weasel was a lucky man.

However, weddings bored him, especially ones like this, which seemed to drag on forever. He found himself staring alternately at the flowers on Granger’s head – although he shouldn’t really be calling her Granger now, should he? – and the daisies in the grass. In fact, he almost didn’t realise that the wedding was over, and it was a good job he _had_ noticed, because Potter _really_ wasn’t the sort of person to nudge him up. Apart from the whole hatred thing – although Draco hoped Potter didn’t hate him quite as much as he had in school, it would make this whole thing harder – Potter was just oblivious.

When the party had started, though, Draco regretted ever wanting the service to end. Potter dragged him straight over to the buffet table, where he piled two plates of food and handed one to Draco with a scowl, turning to talk to Granger in a hushed voice. Draco scowled back at him and looked around at the rest of the guests. _Maybe this_ was _a bad idea._ He hadn’t realised that Potter would be so grouchy about the whole thing. He hadn’t seemed too bothered earlier. Maybe the reality of the whole scenario had hit him now.

It wasn’t long before Granger walked off, leaving Potter in an even worse mood than he had before. “She’s right,” he hissed in Draco’s ear.

“What about?” Draco watched absently as Potter grabbed some of the food off his plate.

“We don’t look like we’re dating.”

“That’s because we’re not.”

“But the whole point is that we are.”

“Having a lovers’ tiff, boys?” Draco looked around to see Weasley the Youngest smirking at them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter’s expression darken, and wondered whether his mood had something to do with the annoying red head.

“Sod off, Weasley.”

“Harry! Your _boyfriend_ can’t talk to me like that!”

“Come on, Draco.” Potter grabbed his elbow and led him away from the buffet table, to a spot of shade under the tree, which he leaned against. Groaning, he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

“Care to tell me what _that_ was about, Potter?”

“She thinks this is all an act.”

“It _is_.”

“That’s not the point! She doesn’t believe that I’m really gay. She just thinks that I still don’t want to go out with _her_. She still expects me to ‘come to my senses’ and marry her and have hundreds of children. Merlin, she even has names for them! She wants to name them after my parents, how weird is that?”

“Pretty weird.” Draco sighed. “Maybe we _should_ be acting more… urgh… _lovey-dovey_ about this whole thing.”

Potter raised his head and looked at Draco with amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t even know you knew a word like that.”

“There are many things about me that you don’t know.” He sat on the floor next to Potter and leaned against the tree. “Come here, Potter. Let’s give Weasley the Youngest something to watch.” Frowning, Potter sat down next to him, causing Draco to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I had in mind.” Glancing around to make sure that they weren’t being watched, he grabbed Potter, causing him to squeak, and pulled his head into his lap. “ _Now_ we look like a couple.”

Potter looked surprised, but after a while he relaxed. “You’re being nicer than I would’ve thought about this whole thing,” he said after a pause.

“Yeah, well, I owe you.”

“You do realise, with Ginny like this, that we’re going to have to pretend for a longer than just today?”

Draco froze. He _hadn’t_ actually realised that, and the thought made him frown. True, he owed Potter, and the man was sort of easy on the eyes – _fucking good enough to eat_ – but even so, he didn’t think that this would be a long-running thing. “I…”

“I’ll make it worth your while, of course. I know where your wand is.”

“My wand?” Draco _still_ hadn’t been given his wand back after the final battle. Apparently, the Minister wanted to put it in a memorial, as the wand that defeated Voldemort, or something. He didn’t completely buy that story – they probably just wanted to stop an ex-Death Eater from having his weapon back – but even so, he knew that he wasn’t going to get his wand back any time soon, if ever.

“I should be able to convince the Minister to give it back to _me_.”

Unexpectedly, Draco felt a lump in his throat. _My wand…_ He had a replacement, of course, but it was _his_ wand. His replacement wasn’t up to scratch, not one bit, not compared to _his wand._ ‘The wand chooses the wizard.’ “Thanks, Potter.”

“Hey, it’s the least I could do.”

~~~

“You _what?!_ ”

“For Merlin’s sake, Blaise, calm down.” Draco scowled at the darker man currently sprawled all over his sofa and sipped his drink. “Potter just wants me to come to dinner, at his house. Apparently, they have a thing every Friday – although for some reason it is Sunday this week – and now we’re a ‘couple’, and everyone knows about me, it means that I have to come too.”

“But Draco, you have to spend your time with Gryffindors!”

“Luna Lovegood was a Ravenclaw.”

“That’s not the point! Damn it, I wish Theo was here, he’d be able to talk you out of it.”

Draco just gave him a look. “Why do you think I haven’t invited Theo?”

Blaise just rolled his eyes. “And you’re in the paper, too. _Defeater of Voldemort Dating Death Eater_. It’s even got nice alliteration.”

“I don’t care.” And Draco honestly didn’t. After half a year of tearing himself up over article upon article about his wartime past, about how he had ‘escaped justice’, he told himself to get a grip and refused to act the same ever again. Sighing, he took another sip of his drink.


	2. Chapter 2

He was actually _nervous_ , which was just unbelievable. Here he was, at Potter’s house again, but this time he had to sort of pretend to be polite, and watch his mouth, and pretend to be _Harry_ sodding _Potter’s_ boyfriend! If that wasn’t enough, Weasley the Youngest was going to be there, drooling all over Potter and studying the both of them, so Draco had to make sure that his acting was impeccable.

He was also slightly worried about his clothes. His mother’s words rang through his head – _“There is no such thing as over-dressed,”_ – but he wasn’t entirely sure. Carefully he brushed the green robes and smoothed down his hair before knocking on the door.

Potter actually answered it in a pair of Muggle jeans and a shirt, and he looked highly amused when he saw what Draco was wearing. “Do you even own any Muggle clothes?”

“Yes,” Draco snarled, pushing back him into the house, thinking about the tight clothes he wore to go clubbing. Muggle clothes were ideal for that, but apart from then, he didn’t actually particularly like them very much. They made him feel half-naked most of the time. He had other Muggle clothes too, of course, but they were even more formal than the robe he was wearing.

“Well, you do look rather over-dressed.”

“There’s no such thing as over-dressed,” Draco quoted. “I’m not too early, am I?”

“No, you’re fine. Look, you can borrow a shirt of mine, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“No, Potter. But thanks.”

“It’s Harry.”

“Not when we’re alone it isn’t.”

Potter shrugged. “Fine. Come and help me cook?”

The smell in the kitchen assaulted Draco’s nostrils as soon as he stepped inside, and to his surprise, it actually smelled quite good. Maybe Potter would be good at this cooking thing. Rolling his sleeves up, he turned to look at Potter. “Where do you want me?”

Potter was taking a sip of his beer at the time and actually spluttered, causing Draco to smirk. “Erm,” he said as he recovered, “how good are you at making salad?”

“I can make it.” He shrugged.

“Well…” Potter gestured to the side and Draco took the hint. Armed with a knife and a pile of vegetables, he began.

It wasn’t for another half an hour before he’d finished, and, stepping back, he admired his work. It wasn’t the best salad he’d even seen, but he hadn’t made one for years, not since he’d grown out of the habit of watching the house-elves at work and helping them, and he was pleased. The lettuce leaves were artistically torn, the tomatoes had been cut into delicate shapes, the pepper was sliced into perfectly even, uniform slices, the cucumber was cut into quarter-slices and Draco had even found some bread that was past its best and, with the help of some olive oil, salt, pepper and herbs, had made croutons.

Looking around, he saw that Potter was no longer in the kitchen, and from the sound of it, he was in his living room, talking. Listening carefully, Draco could hear Weasley and Granger’s voices, and assumed that they were the first of the guests to arrive. He sighed and looked around the kitchen for his robe, which he had cast off when the kitchen had got rather warm. It wouldn’t do to appear in front of the Weasel and Granger in just his pair of trousers.

However, before he could find it, Potter came back in the kitchen, armed with a black shirt that looked suspiciously like silk. “Thought you might want this: your robes look pretty hot.” He seemed to be eyeing Draco’s chest, a blush on his cheeks, and Draco suddenly remembered the scars across his front, and another reason why he didn’t want Weasley or Granger to see him half-naked.

“Thanks.” As he pulled it on, Potter turned away from him, and caught sight of the salad.

“Hey, Draco, when I said make a salad I didn’t expect _this_.”

“Something wrong with it?”

“No, nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just very… you. I would just have cut everything up and thrown it in a bowl. You even made _croutons_.” He sighed. “I love croutons, but I never learned how to make them…”

“Ah, Potter, that’s why we’re going out: so I can make you croutons all day long.” Draco smirked as Potter rolled his eyes.

“M’glad I told you to come early.” He snatched one of the croutons off the top of the salad. “Although any normal person would just offer to teach me.”

“Hey, Potter, leave my salad alone!” Draco glared at him. “And I’m _not_ normal, thank you very much. I’m a Malfoy.”

“H’mmm.” There was a ring at the doorbell then, and Potter blanched. “That’ll be Ginny, I bet.” Looking decidedly unhappy, he headed off to open the door. Draco followed him out of the kitchen and nodded to Granger and Weasley.

“Malfoy.” Weasley looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon, or was about to have a fit, but at least Granger smiled at him, and it didn’t look too forced, either.

“Congratulations, by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about it at the wedding.”

“Thanks.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon now or something?”

Weasley’s expression darkened. “We’re saving up to go to China.”

“Oh.” Taunts about their lack of money rose in his mind, but Draco forced them down. He was supposed to be Potter’s boyfriend, and as such he would be polite – _Or politer, at any rate,_ he amended when he thought about Weasley’s scowl – to Potter’s friends. “I went to China a few years ago. The wizarding culture there is amazing.”

“I know!” Granger gushed after a startled look. “That’s why I want to go, of course. It’s apparently a brilliant place.” She sat down on the sofa and gestured for Draco to sit next to her. “Where would you recommend going?”

When he entered the room, Potter’s look of surprise matched Weasley’s, but after a second Draco saw it soften. He smirked at Potter briefly as he listened to Granger wax lyrical about the Chinese Emperors and how it was rumoured that most of them had been wizards. Next to Potter, Weasley the Youngest scowled, and George Weasley, Longbottom and Luna Lovegood just looked stunned for a moment. Obviously, even with him being at Weasley and Granger’s wedding, they were surprised to see him there.

Everyone other than Granger ignored him as Potter started to set the table and served up the food. When he called them over, Draco was amused and rather surprised to see his salad in the centre of the table. He was even more amused when Weasley the Youngest commented on it, saying how it looked wonderful, and Potter told her who had made it. Draco relished the glare that she gave him.

He was surprised, though, at the look Potter had given him as he said it. It wasn’t every day that you had the Saviour of the Wizarding World smile at you with pride, especially if your name was Draco Malfoy. He was also surprised when Potter gestured for Draco to sit next to him, although when he thought about it, it was obvious. He was supposed to be Potter’s boyfriend, and Potter would want his boyfriend next to him, so they could stare deeply into each other’s eyes or something just as mushy and romantic.

Not that he was going to do _that_. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not stare deeply into other people’s eyes with a goofy grin on his face; not even when said other person was Harry Potter and was his only hope at ever getting his wand back.

And not even when said person was such a surprisingly good cook. Draco had to hide his shock at the fillet, grilled to perfection, and the sautéed potatoes. He would never have believed anyone if they had told him that he would enjoy something so… _plebeian_ as something that practically amounted to steak and chips. (Also, if he did say so himself, the salad just _made_ the whole meal.)

He even managed to join in with the conversation between eating, flashing Potter looks that amounted to as far as he would go to loving stares and ignoring Weasley the Youngest’s glares. The main topics were Luna’s recent trip to the Swiss Alps and, of course, the honeymoon to China, but he actually managed to get into a conversation with Longbottom about his plans to start his own business, cultivating and selling rare plants.

Unfortunately, as he was just getting animated about the different types of loans Longbottom could get, and which were the best ones for him – it wasn’t his fault he knew a lot about money, was it? – Potter decided to practically order him to help clear away the plates and serve dessert. Draco only conceded because he assumed it was something Potter would expect his boyfriend to do, although if he had any choice in the matter he would have told Potter, in very graphic terms, exactly where he could stick his dirty plates and his lemon cheesecake.

In the kitchen, however, Potter just put the plates down and turned to face him. “Malfoy, what are you playing at?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look practically… like you’ve taken an overdose.”

Draco snorted. “So that’s the thanks I get for pretending to be madly in love with you, is it?”

“If that’s what you look like when you’re madly in love, I’m not surprised you’re still single.”

Draco glared at him. It wasn’t his fault that no one wanted to date an ex-Death Eater, and _he_ was never going to date a Muggle. It was far too complicated. “I thought that was what you wanted in a boyfriend, even a fake one,” he hissed, trying to keep his anger in check and his voice low. That comment seemed to wipe Potter’s face clean, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Sorry,” he said at last. “That’s… Just act yourself, okay? You’re scaring the others. I think they’re starting to wonder what I’ve done with the real Draco Malfoy. And…” he blushed, “that comment I made was out of order.”

Draco shrugged, trying not to show his surprise in Potter’s apology. “Where’s this cheesecake, then?”

He was surprised again when he realised that they weren’t going to eat the dessert at the table, but on chairs and sofas and sprawled out in front of the fire, spelled cool because of the warm weather. It was a far more relaxed atmosphere than he had ever witnessed before at a meal, and it would certainly take some time getting used to. After handing out the cheesecake he slumped onto the sofa, taking over the end Longbottom hadn’t grabbed first, and found himself watching Potter wrestle with a bottle of wine.

“For the love of Merlin, Potter, have you _ever_ learned to uncork a bottle?” The words were out of his mouth before he realised what he was saying, and he felt all eyes on him. However, he kept his gaze on Potter’s and was surprised to see him smile slightly, so as no one else would notice. _Maybe he_ did _mean that thing about me being myself, after all._

“If you’re so good at opening wine bottles, Draco, you come and do it.”

 _Oh, fuck, we’re supposed to be on first name terms, aren’t we?_ “Fine, _Harry_ , I will.” Rising to his feet, he went to stand beside Potter and took the wine bottle and the corkscrew from his hand. However, instead of trying to open the wine like Potter had, the Muggle way, he set the corkscrew down and, with a flourish of his wand, sent the cork flying up to hit the ceiling and bounce into the corner of the room.

“Draco!”

“Terribly sorry, Harry.” He smirked to himself and poured wine for everyone, before setting the bottle back down on the table. When he turned to get back to his seat, though, he found Potter was sitting in it. Sighing minutely, he took the seat between Potter and Longbottom, but Potter had other ideas. Without breaking his conversation with Longbottom, he pulled Draco against him. Draco stiffened at first, but was conscious of everyone else’s eyes on them, and forced himself to relax. Indeed, after a few minutes he found himself leaning back against Potter’s shoulder, Potter’s arm around his waist, and watching the flames in the grate.

“So, Malfoy.” Blinking, he turned to look at Weasley the Youngest, who was staring at him, a strange, wicked smile on her lips, “how did you and Harry meet?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “In a robe shop, when we were eleven.”

“No, not like that!” She scowled at him, and he just smiled sweetly back. “I meant, how did you _get together_?”

Oh, and was Draco pleased that they had discussed this at the wedding. “In a robe shop, ironically.”

This time it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Details?”

“He was browsing for an outfit for the wedding. I just happened to be in the shop, and went to ask him about my wand. We ended up shopping for his robes together. It just went on from there.”

Weasley the Youngest snorted, but before she could say anything else, George Weasley spoke to Draco. “Why didn’t we know about you two until the wedding?”

Now, this was slightly harder. It was something that they hadn’t managed to discuss, and Draco just hoped that Potter was listening, so he could remember the excuse he was going to give. “We didn’t want people to know until we were pretty sure it wasn’t just a fling or something.”

“So you’re serious?”

“Hey, I’m having dinner with you guys, aren’t I? I went to your brother’s wedding, for Merlin’s sake. My family and yours have never been on better terms.”

That seemed to be it for questions about their relationship. In fact, that seemed to be it for people talking to Draco at all, but he didn’t mind. Really, it was comfortable leaning against Potter’s side, feeling the other man’s breathing and the vibrations of his speech. _I could be in far worse places than here._

What he hadn’t accounted for, though, was the fact that no one seemed to be leaving. It was nearing midnight, and the conversation, and the wine, was still flowing. Slightly worried, Draco started to pull himself to his feet, and found his arm being gripped by Potter’s.

“Where are you going, Draco?”

“Home.” At Potter’s look, he added, “I’ve got to be up early tomorrow morning.”

“Stay over.”

It took all his effort not to widen his eyes and stare at Potter. “I really have to…”

“I’ll wake you up early.” There was a pleading look in Potter’s eyes. “Please?”

 _What is he so desperate about? It’s not like I_ have _to stay over, just because I’m supposedly his boyfriend._ He sighed. “Fine, but you’d better wake me up at a decent time.”

“I will.” Potter pulled him back to his seat on the sofa again and the conversations around them, which had faded when Draco had stood up, started again. It was another hour and a half before Luna yawned and claimed she was tired, prompting everyone else to start getting up head upstairs.

Head upstairs… Draco suddenly froze. They were all going to have bedrooms, him and Potter weren’t going to be alone in the house, and that meant that they still had to keep up the act. He had to sleep in Potter’s room, in Potter’s _bed_. This was awkward enough as it was.

“Come on, Draco.” Potter managed to lead him to his bedroom, on the top floor of the house, without it becoming too obvious that he was actually taking Draco somewhere that he had never been before, which Draco was immensely pleased about. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, though, Draco turned to look at his supposed boyfriend.

“What was all that about?”

Potter shrugged. “I was worried Ginny was going to come up during the night.”

“She does that?”

“Sometimes. Not very often, but with you being at dinner, I thought she was more likely to do it, unless she knew I was, well, _with_ someone.”

“What’s wrong with a simple locking charm?” Draco rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Remind me that my robe is still in your kitchen.”

“Oh, err, yeah. Malfoy, what are you…?”

Draco threw his shirt at Potter. “You don’t expect me to go to sleep in my clothes, do you?”

“No, I mean… erm… there’s a bathroom… privacy.”

“Potter, don’t tell me, after seven years of Quidditch showers and sleeping in a dormitory, that you’re embarrassed about seeing a naked man?” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I was planning on keeping my underwear on.”

“Oh. That’s… You can borrow pyjamas, if you want.”

“I can’t sleep in them. Sorry if that hurts your delicate sensibilities.” Smirking, Draco crawled into one side of Potter’s massive four poster bed and allowed his eyes to study his room has Potter got changed. Strangely, it wasn’t brilliant red, like he would have expected, but was painted a nice, soothing shade of green. It seemed very impersonal, though. There were no pictures on the chest of draws, or the bed-side table, or even the walls. There wasn’t even a Quidditch poster or something.

In fact, the room quickly bored Draco and he found himself watching Potter undress instead. He had to admit, Potter’s body was quite nice – _smooth skin, toned muscle, want to taste_ – and his blush when he realised that Draco was watching him – _adorable!_ – made the blond smirk.

“Come on, _lover_.” Potter scowled at him and rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think there was a need to,” he said as he climbed in to the other side of the bed, being careful not to touch Draco at all. “I don’t usually make a habit of pretending to be going out with my worst enemy.”

“I don’t know, going out with Voldemort might’ve been an interesting way of defeating him,” Draco mused. Potter laughed.

“You’re right, you’re not my worst enemy. You’re not even my second worst.”

Draco gave him an affronted look. “What number am I, then?”

“Third, I think. No, make that fourth.”

“Who’s second and third?”

“Snape and Wormtail. Not sure which order. Actually, no, Wormtail first. Snape was just a bastard to me, he wasn’t actually evil.”

Draco snorted. “You’re not my worst enemy either, you know.”

“No?”

“You’re my best.”

“And how is that different?”

Draco shrugged. “Don’t know.” He sighed. “Wake me up early. I am serious about having to go.”

“Okay. ’Night.”

“Goodnight.”

~~~

Draco was surprised to find himself waking up in an empty bed. For a moment, he looked around, bewildered about where he was, and then he remembered, just as he registered the fact that the shower was going.

“Potter?”

He heard a thud, and then a strangled “What?” coming from the direction of what he assumed to be Potter’s ensuite.

“I thought I told you to wake me up early.”

“I was going to, after…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hurry up in there, will you?”

Five minutes later a disgruntled looking Potter left the bathroom and allowed Draco to go in. It took Draco only ten minutes to get showered and change back into his trousers, and when he came back out of the bathroom he found Potter standing holding his robe, which he had got out of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching out and taking it before he realised what he was doing. Potter’s eyes suddenly switched from the scars on his chest to the darker skin on the inside of his arm, and Draco cursed to himself. “Yes, I was Marked. Go on, study it: judge me all you want.”

However, all Potter said was, “Didn’t it hurt?”

“Yes.” He pulled his robe on, hiding the faded Mark from view.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was a stupid mistake, and something that stupid is _never_ going to happen again.”

“I’m still sorry.” Harry sighed. “You want breakfast? I’m making waffles.”

“No. I was serious when I said I had to go.”

“Where?”

 _Nowhere that concerns you,_ was what Draco almost said, but something made him stop. _Potter’s going to get your wand back for you. Anyway, if he was my_ real _boyfriend, he would know._ “Work,” he sighed.

“Work? But I thought…”

“That’s what most people think. Mother doesn’t even know I have a job.”

“What do you do?”

Draco refused to be embarrassed about it, and looked him straight in the eye. “Muggle accountant.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s just…” Potter grinned. “A Malfoy, working with Muggles.”

“Do you think wizards would employ me?” Potter’s expression fell then.

“Sorry, Draco.” Draco just waved his words aside.

“It’s all my fault, so stop being so noble about it all.”

“I still feel bad. I’ll fight for your rights, I’ll…”

“Potter.” Draco glared at Potter before he could start a proper rant. “I’m happy working with Muggles. They don’t know my past, if they see it at all, they think this,” he gestured to his arm, “is just an interesting tattoo, and it’s mainly easy work. It’s something to do during the week.”

“I still…”

“Potter. Shut up.” Potter rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything else about Draco’s job. Instead, he nodded.

“You coming next week?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to, haven’t I?”

Potter chose to ignore the last part of the statement. “See you, then. Friday, this time. It was only Sunday because of Luna.”

“I know. She _did_ spend three hours talking about her trip to Switzerland.” Giving Potter a nod and spinning on his heel, Draco Apparated out of the house.

~~~

Draco _hated_ Thursdays. For some strange reason, it always seemed the longest day of the week to him. Everyone else always said it was Monday, because it was the first day of the week, or Wednesday, because it was the middle of the week, or even Friday, because it was the end of the week. Draco disagreed. Because he didn’t actually work on Wednesday, Thursday was the first day of work after only one day of rest. He was always grouchy on Thursdays.

“Mr Malfoy?” There was a knock on the door to accompany the voice, and Draco looked up to see the receptionist from downstairs. He didn’t actually hate the woman, she was one of the only ones who had got the message that he was gay and not interested in them, but the day made him a bit sharp when he answered.

“What?”

“There’s someone downstairs to see you. A Mr Potter?”

Draco looked up, blinking. “Potter?”

“That’s right.”

“I…” _What the fuck does Potter want? And how on earth did he find out where I worked anyway?_ He sighed.“You’d better send him up, then.”

Two minutes later he heard another knock on his open door. He didn’t even look up, but waved his hand in the direction of the empty desk in his room – luckily for Potter, Thursday was the day the man he shared his office with had the day off. “Pull up a chair, Potter, and then you can tell me all about whatever it is you want.”

There was a pause, and then footsteps to the desk and the sound of a chair being dragged. Potter sighed as he collapsed into the chair, and Draco finished what he was doing on the computer on his desk and looked up. To his surprise, Potter looked very flustered, and was holding two mugs in his hand.

“I bought you coffee,” he said when he noticed he had Draco’s attention. “I don’t know how you take it, so I’ve got sugar and milk and stuff, but…” He set one of the Styrofoam cups down and pulled various packets and containers out of his pocket.

“Thanks.” Draco added five sugars to his coffee and took a sip. _Ah!_ “I haven’t had a coffee all day. The bloody coffee machine is broken, and this place doesn’t have something so… _common_ … as a kitchen.

Potter laughed. “Glad I could be of service.”

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Draco said after another sip of coffee, “but what are you doing here?”

Potter shrugged. “Ginny.”

“Ah.” A quick glance at Potter’s expression told Draco that he would be more likely to find out what was going on if he kept his mouth shut, and after a few minutes, his patience proved rewarding.

“She accosted me at work!” Potter almost shouted. “I was trying to write a report and she came into the office and started talking to me about you. She still doesn’t reckon this is real. She says we’ve never so much as kissed, she can tell. Oh god…” Potter put his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, she has a good point.” Potter looked up, startled, as Draco mused about what Weasley the Youngest had said. “We’re not going to look like realistic lovers if we kiss for the first time in front of them,” he continued after a pause, “and by the sounds of it, we’re going to have to.”

“You’re saying we should… _kiss_ …?” Draco couldn’t place the look on Potter’s face. Horror, perhaps; he had never seen horror on that face before, and he had never seen _this_ there either.

“Not here.” Draco sighed. “But… Yes.”

“Oh god.” Potter sighed as well. “Not here?”

“No. I don’t usually kiss people at my work place.” He turned back to his computer.

“Draco?” Potter said after a pause.

“H’mmm?”

“Can I… I mean, Ginny will be looking for me, and…”

“Yes, you can stay. Just be quiet.”

“Thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was strange, having Potter sitting on the other side of his desk, drinking coffee. Draco would’ve thought that it would be awkward, but it really wasn’t. It wasn’t that he managed to realise that Potter wasn’t there, but he didn’t care that Potter was watching him do a Muggle job – that is, wrestling with the computer even after the couple of years he’d been working with them – sipping his coffee and relaxing back into his chair.

It was even stranger, he realised as his mind started to wander, what he had agreed to do with Potter. True, when he’d started this, he’d assumed that kissing was going to be a part of it, that was what boyfriends did, but now… Then it had been abstract but now it was definitely going to happen, and he was going to kiss _Potter_ , his best enemy, the thorn in his side for six years of his seven at school. True, he was sort of attractive – _so damn gorgeous_ – but it was still _Potter_!

As the clocked ticked its way to five, and Draco’s finishing time, though, he noticed that Potter was stiffening up. _It looks like he’s… nervous. About kissing me._ Draco frowned to himself. _Maybe Potter hasn’t had much experience. Maybe it’s because it’s me._ He sighed. _And his kissing will be worse if he’s nervous. I don’t want him to be nervous._

Five minutes before he was due to leave, he turned off his computer and started to gather his stuff together. “Your place or mine?”

“Oh… erm… mine?”

Draco nodded. “Okay.” He walked out from behind his desk, noticing that Potter was still nervous. “How about something to eat beforehand? I’m starving.”

“Oh. Okay.” The tension fell from Potter’s shoulders, and Draco smirked slightly. He made a move to take Potter’s chair, to move it back to its place, and instead grabbed Potter’s t-shirt and, bending his head, touched his lips to Potter’s own. _So much for no kissing in the workplace._

Potter froze for a moment, unresponsive to the movement of Draco’s lips. Disappointed, Draco almost pulled away, before Potter suddenly moved his hands from where they were held stiffly at his sides and, wrapping them around Draco’s waist, pulled him closer and started to kiss him back.

 _Oh, Merlin!_ Potter was by far the best kiss he’d ever had, and he had no idea what Cho Chang had been complaining about. The kiss was frantic, Potter wasn’t holding back, and Draco almost moaned as he raised his hands to bury them in that nest of black hair. He even forgot how to breathe and had to pull himself free of the kiss, but Potter was unperturbed. His lips traced Draco’s jaw before locking onto the pulse point on his neck.

“God, Potter.” Draco arched his neck. “If you… Damn, you’re good at this. At this acting. At… Don’t stop!” But Potter pulled back, something else that Draco couldn’t read in his green eyes, his breathing heavy.

“Yeah. I… I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”

“God, no.” Draco shifted in Potter’s arms and Potter’s face flushed red as he realised how they were standing. Slowly, so Draco wouldn’t fall, he unwrapped himself from him, and Draco reluctantly let go of Potter’s hair. It was so much softer than it looked, almost as soft as Draco’s own.

“Maybe we shouldn’t… not like that…”

“Weasley would have a heart attack.” Draco resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair as Potter was doing. _Damn_ , but he was a good kisser. It was almost as if he’d been enjoying every minute, like Draco had. Not that this meant that Potter wasn’t his best enemy any more. He wasn’t ugly – _damn hot, so damn hot!_ – and he was good. Of course Draco enjoyed it.

“I… have to go.” Draco blinked before looking back at Potter and narrowing his eyes.

“I thought we were going for something to eat.”

“I…” Potter sighed. “I should really get back to work; explain where I’ve been for ages.”

“Okay.” Draco watched him leave the room, still frowning, before shrugging. _Potter was always bad at social interaction. This is just another example._ Sighing to himself, he followed Potter out of the room and out of the building, before finding a secluded spot and Apparating home.

~~~

“Potter _kissed_ you?”

“It was all part of the act. We just needed practice.”

“By the sounds of it, you didn’t.” Blaise rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle of wine off the table, pouring himself another glass. “Honestly, Draco, this is getting out of hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this whole thing with Potter. If you ask me, you’re doing far too much.”

Draco glared at him. “You don’t know what it’s like, to not have _your_ wand, to have a substandard one, to have no hope of yours ever being returned to you, and then for suddenly the wand to be within your grasp again.”

“You’re doing all this for your wand?”

“Yes.”

“Which wand?”

Draco deliberated emptying the bottle of wine over his friend’s head. “Blaise, I am not thinking with my dick. Potter and I are never going to go beyond kissing, anyway.”

“H’mmm.” Blaise’s tone could only be described as disbelieving.

“Look, just shut up about me, Blaise. I want to hear all about your newest conquest.” Blaise just grinned, the sort of grin that meant that he hadn’t forgotten, wasn’t going to forget, was just letting Draco have a few hours, days maybe, of peace before the questioning started again, and started to talk about Olivia, or whatever her name was. Draco sighed. He needed another drink.

~~~

The slight awkwardness from the end of their last meeting had disappeared when Draco arrived at Potter’s house the next day. This time Potter was making spaghetti bolognese and, since there was no need to make salad, Draco just watched him. He’d come in something more relaxed, just a pair of charcoal trousers and a pale silver shirt, and he made sure that he didn’t get too close to the sauce, which had a habit of splashing.

Strangely, he and Potter actually had a decent conversation, before there was a knock on the door. Potter gestured for Draco to answer it, and when he did, he saw Weasley the Youngest and George Weasley standing on the other side.

“Malfoy.”

He glared at her and nodded at George as they passed through the door. Just as he was about to close it, Luna and Longbottom Apparated on the doorstep, closely followed by the Weasley couple. He allowed them to pass through with a smile for Longbottom and Luna, a wary look at Weasley and a nod for Granger. Following them through into the dining room, he saw that Potter had set the table.

The meal went similarly to the one almost a week before, although this time the atmosphere was warmer towards Draco. Only Weasley the Youngest was still glaring daggers at him when no one else was looking; even her brothers seemed to have realised that there was nothing for it, and were treating him better than they ever had before. In fact, he even started to have a polite conversation with the Weasel about the upcoming match between the Chudley Cannons and Pride of Portree.

That is, of course, until Weasley the Youngest piped up. “I think we should go clubbing.”

“What?” Potter looked at her with shock in his eyes.

“Oh, what a lovely idea!” Potter’s eyes, and Draco’s, switched to Luna’s, but there was no malice in her expression. “I haven’t been for _ages_. There are no clubs in the mountains.”

“It’d be nice to go out,” was George’s input.

That seemed to be the opinion than clinched it for Potter. “Okay, we’ll go out after dinner.”

“What, Potter, no dessert?”

“I don’t think fruit salad can be eaten at a club,” Potter replied with a smile. Draco rolled his eyes, before he realised something. He wasn’t wearing anything that could be called club wear!

“Potter,” he hissed as he was, once again, roped in to clearing the dishes away, “can I borrow some clothes of yours?”

“You can go home and get changed, Draco. That’s what everyone else will be doing. Just be back in half an hour.”

“Okay.” Once back home, however, he didn’t have to think much before choosing something to wear. He’d been shopping with Theo and Greg on Wednesday, and he’d bought himself a pair of leather trousers, originally to stop Greg from buying a similar pair, but they actually looked really good on him. He left his shirt on, just undoing some of the buttons, reasoning that no one would be able to see the scars in the darkness of the club, and found some Muggle hair gel Blaise had bought him for a present once, as a joke, which he used to style his hair. He deliberated applying make-up, but decided raiding his mother’s collection was just a waste of time, and he hadn’t had much practice since he was about five.

It was only when he Apparated back to Potter’s house, and saw him standing there in a pair of tight jeans, red converses and a tight black t-shirt that he realised two things. One, Potter looked _good._ Two, he’d been trying to make himself look attractive so that Potter would kiss him again. He was only prevented from being embarrassed when he saw that his second objective looked like it was going to work. Potter, upon seeing Draco, licked his lips and took a step forwards, but before he could move any more, there was a crack and Weasley the Youngest Apparated into the room, closely followed by Luna. Soon everyone was in the room, and Granger was asking Potter where they were going.

“I think we should let Draco decide,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “since this is his first time out with us.”

“I…” Draco was going to complain, to say that the only places he knew were gay bars, both Muggle and wizard, and they would most likely _eat_ the group of Gryffindors, but he caught Weasley the Youngest’s eye, her malicious expression, and changed his mind at the last minute. “I know _just_ the place.”

~~~

The music was loud, the drinks were alcoholic and Draco was seriously thankful for the existence of both. The loud music because it was distracting everyone from him. The alcohol because without it Potter would not be pinning him to a wall and sucking on the junction between his shoulder and his neck like there was no tomorrow. “Oh, Merlin, don’t stop, Potter.”

It had all happened so fast. They’d been in the bar for about an hour when this man started hitting on Draco. Weasley the Youngest looked disgusted at it, and had turned to Potter, whispering in his ear. Draco had glared at her, allowing the man to run his hand up his arm, and Potter had just stared at them.

“Just going to let that man steal your _boyfriend_ , Harry?” He hadn’t actually been able to hear Weasley the Youngest speak, but he could see her lips move now her face wasn’t pressed up against Potter’s ear, could read them perfectly. “Unless, of course, he’s actually free to…”

Potter had snapped. Striding through the mass of people, he’d reached Draco’s side, snarled at the man who was now grinding himself against Draco’s back and causing him to back away hurriedly at the light in Potter’s eyes, and had dragged Draco’s mouth down for a kiss.

The kiss had been short, heated and possessive, and after everyone’s initial shock had died away, when they were ordering more drinks at the bar, Draco had grabbed Potter and had dragged him into the shadows on the other side of the club, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Potter had immediately given him a look of what Draco could only assume was gratitude and had started kissing him again in earnest.

But now Draco was bored of kissing. He wanted more. He was pressed up against the wall, but he had height on Potter and used it to his advantage now, while Potter was distracted by his neck, to flip them over and push _Potter_ against the wall. Potter made a show of complaining, but Draco’s fingers found their way under his t-shirt, dancing across his skin, and when Draco ground his leg against Potter’s erection, the ex-Gryffindor groaned and threw his head back.

“Draco… I…”

“Quiet, you.” Draco smirked and caught Potter’s lips in his own for another kiss, not stopping his ministrations to Potter’s chest. The other man whimpered into his mouth, and truly it was the best sound Draco had ever tasted. He couldn’t stop his hands from reaching down further, teasing at the waistband of Potter’s jeans, slowly undoing the belt and sliding his hands into them and wrapping his long fingers around…

“God, Draco.” Draco stopped kissing Potter’s jaw to look into those eyes, green and lust-filled. He smirked and started moving his hands, causing Potter to gasp, but Potter was perfectly able to retaliate. Draco felt fingers at his own trousers, fiddling with the buttons, sliding into the warm leather and wrapping themselves around his own erection.

“P-Potter…”

“Harry.”

“ _Harry_ , Merlin…” Draco refused to be beaten by Harry’s hands on him, though. He’d learnt some things, in various places, from various people, and it was one of these tricks he employed now, causing Harry to almost yowl.

“Draco, _please_ …” It wasn’t long before Harry cried out, throwing his head back and cracking it against the wall, and to his surprise Draco found the sight terribly erotic – so erotic that he followed suit, crying out Harry’s name. Afterwards, they just stood there, panting, until Harry spoke.

“Draco, what was…?”

Draco suddenly froze. They were pretending all this, weren’t they? They were pretending that they were going out, it wasn’t for real, and they’d just… against a wall in a club… His mother would kill him is she found out, not that he was likely to tell her. Blaise and Theo would kill him. Pansy would probably cancel the rest of her trip to America just to come and kill him. Only Greg wouldn’t make an attempt on his life, and Draco wasn’t delusional. He knew that was because Greg was very anti-death, had been ever since Vince. He’d even gone fucking _vegetarian_.

“Well, people aren’t going to doubt us now, are they?” he found himself saying.

“They don’t even know what we’ve done.”

“They will when we come back.”

Harry sighed. “I hate pretending.”

Draco didn’t reply, just pulled himself away from Harry and walked to the bathroom. However, as he washed his hands, he found himself wondering exactly when it had stopped being pretending for him.

~~~

“Mister Malfoy, Mister Harry Potter is here to see you.”

Draco looked up from his book to scowl at the house-elf. “Send him away. I don’t want visitors.”

The house-elf wrung her hands. “I is knowing that, Mister Malfoy. Mister Harry Potter is not leaving, however much Lulu is asking him to.”

Draco sighed. Harry was a stubborn bastard. “Send him up, then, and tell him I will personally eviscerate him if he touches anything.”

Draco was still reading when Harry came in, looking around warily. Draco waited until Harry looked like he was going to implode from nervousness before setting the book down and looking at him down his nose. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I just…” Harry shifted his feet. “I’ve got this.” Suddenly he thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out… Draco actually gasped.

“My _wand_ …” Ignoring Harry now, concentrating solely on the piece of wood in his hand, he went around the side of the desk until he was standing in front of him. Slowly he reached forwards and took the wand from the ex-Gryffindor’s limp fingers. It felt warm in his hand, like it belonged there, like it was an extension of his arm. Laughing, Draco waved it through the air, sending sparks flying from the tip. However, he couldn’t forget about Harry for long. Sighing, he slipped the wand into his pocket and turned to face him.

“The deal’s finished, then?”

“I… what?”

“You wouldn’t give me this unless the deal was finished. Weasley the Youngest evidently believed our display at the club. She now firmly believes that you’re gay. So…”

“Well, yeah, but…” Harry looked like he was about to start a long speech, but after a deep breath, he sighed. “You don’t have to hang around with me any more, if you don’t want to. I’ll tell everyone we’re over.”

Draco nodded as Harry turned and left the room, resisting the urge to call Harry back. _He wouldn’t want you to. It was just pretending, for him. It’s over now._

 _~~~_

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” Theo looked at Draco closely. “You don’t have to hang around with Gryffindors, Weasleys or insane Ravenclaws any longer.”

“Yeah.”

“You have time to yourself now; you can go out and find yourself the man you deserve instead of pretending to be off the market.”

“There is that.”

“You’re young and gorgeous, Draco, and there are loads of wizards who would love that. Maybe not in England, but Pansy keeps writing about the men in America. They won’t care so much about the Dark Mark. In fact, they’ll probably find it attractive, you being the bad boy. Gives you some mystique.”

“I know.”

“So why are you still nursing that bottle of vodka.”

Draco raised his head and looked at Theo straight in the eyes. “I know I called you over, to be all logical at me, and you’ve been great, it’s just… I don’t want that. I don’t want to be young, free and single. I want to be able to reach out and kiss Potter without him trying to kill me. I want to be able to see him wearing nothing. I want to make him come again.”

“Well, you can’t have that.”

Draco sighed and looked back at the vodka in his hands. _Dutch courage. A Malfoy takes what he wants._ “Who said I can’t?”

~~~

He wasn’t drunk, no he wasn’t, he was just mildly inebriated. The walls weren’t waving at him, which was what usually happened when he was drunk. However, he didn’t think that he had ever heard Harry Potter cry when he was sober. Not that he had ever heard Harry Potter cry at all, but if he was drunk, it would mean that he was hallucinating. But he wasn’t drunk. Harry Potter really _was_ crying.

“I thought he… Oh, God, Hermione!”

“Sshh, Harry, it’s okay.”

Of course, Draco felt slightly guilty about standing in Harry’s home and listening to Harry cry as Granger comforted him, but it wasn’t like he’d had to fight the wards. He’s just Apparated into the hall – the wards had let him through – and followed the sound of voices and tears.

“It’s not! All that, it was perfect, and he just…” Draco heard a gulp. “And Ginny.”

“What did she do?” Granger’s voice was calm, contradicting Harry’s sobs.

“I… I told her we’re split, I thought she would be okay with it, be understanding, comfort me like a friend because, as far as she knew, I’d just broken up with my boyfriend, and she… She tried to kiss me.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco’s thought’s echoed Granger’s words exactly.

“She said she never thought I was gay, I was bi if anything, that she knew we were still destined to be together, and then she kissed me. Hermione, she’s planning our kid’s names! I don’t even know if I _want_ children!”

“Of course you do, Harry.”

“I’m not sure, any more. I’m not sure I want my own, anyway. There are loads of orphans, because of the war, like Teddy. I was thinking about adopting them, about given them a loving home.”

“That’d be wonderful.”

“Yeah, but Ginny would never have agreed. She wants her own. I thought _he_ might’ve, but…”

“Oh Harry, you have it bad, don’t you?” Draco heard Granger sigh. “I’ll get you a hot chocolate or something.” Footsteps headed towards the kitchen, but something stopped them, and when Harry started talking, Draco reckoned it was him.

“Yes, I have it bad.” Harry’s voice was low and distraught: broken. “I thought it was just a crush, I thought I would grow out of it, but he… he makes me laugh, I feel comfortable with him, we have a surprising amount in common, more than I would’ve thought. The more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him. And he’s _gorgeous_ , he doesn’t look like he belongs here, he’s just… his hair, his lips, his… He looks like an angel.”

Draco blamed the alcohol in his system for impairing his intelligence, because it was only _then_ that he realised that Harry was talking about _him_ , despite the knowledge that Harry hadn’t been with any other man for a while. _It… it wasn’t pretending for you, either, Harry? It was all… real…?_

“And it was all real for me,” Harry continued, answering Draco’s question with bitterness in his voice that Draco found himself hating, “but it obviously wasn’t for him. He just sent me packing as soon as I came with his wand. That was all he wanted. I was just a means to an end.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry I ever thought of going to him. I thought, if you spent more time with him, you’d see that he wasn’t good for you, and the terrible thing was that he _was_.” She sighed. “You really do need that hot chocolate.”

Draco heard Granger go out of the room as he stood there, wondering what to do. On the one hand, it had been just as real for Harry as it had ended up being for him. On the other hand… He wasn’t sure if he could take Harry back, if he was able to, if Harry would let him take him back.

But he’d made his decision before he’d even got here. Slowly, so as not to alert Granger, he pushed open the door and just looked. Harry looked a wreck, slumped on the sofa, his face tear-streaked and his clothes crumpled. It even looked like he had a coffee stain on his t-shirt.

It didn’t take him long for him to notice he was being watched, and he raised his head, showing puffy eyes, wide and unfocused because of the lack of glasses and vision charms. “Malfoy?”

Strangely, that, the use of his surname rather than his given name, hurt Draco more than anything else. It sent them back to the time where they were enemies, when none of this had happened, where they would gladly hex each other at the slightest provocation. “Harry.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” _The truth, Draco. That’s the only way._ “I came to… take you. I want you. It wasn’t just pretending for me, either.”

Harry’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You overheard us.” They widened then just as suddenly. “And you… it was real? For you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, god.” There were more tears in his eyes, now, falling down his cheeks, and Draco stepped forwards, until he was standing next to him, and pulled him to his feet. “I thought… you…”

“I know. I thought the same.” Harry was still crying as Draco pulled him up for a kiss, soft instead of hard, gentle instead of rough, but no less passionate than anything else he’d experienced. Just like their first kiss, Harry was unresponsive, until the passion got through to him, until he seemed to realise that Draco was telling the truth, that he weren’t messing around, that he meant this. Then Harry’s hands were wrapped around Draco’s waist, Draco’s hands were fisted in Harry’s hair, soft whimpers escaped their throats, until a bang from the kitchen, a door slamming on a cupboard, brought them back to their senses and reminded them that they weren’t alone.

“Anyway,” Draco whispered conversationally, “you need someone to protect you from Weasley the Youngest.”

“Don’t call her that.” Harry was smiling, despite his tears. Leaning his head back, he shouted in the direction of the kitchen: “Hermione? Better make two mugs of hot chocolate!”

~ _finis_

~~~

Now here we are  
And I’m suddenly standing  
At the beginning with you  
         - _“At the Beginning” from Anastasia_


End file.
